The 'Pretty Big' One

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Does it seem strange to be writing about the anniversary of perhaps the most notorious earthquake to strike the North American continent in the last 50 years — on a sports blog?

Well, I guess it is — but that is how I remember that event.

It was a Tuesday night, just after 7 p.m. in north Texas. I was enrolled in graduate school, and those classes almost always met at night, but I didn't have a class that night. My brother was at my apartment, and we were settling in to watch Game 3 of the World Series between the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland A's.

Because the teams were in twin cities — separated only by the bay and linked by the San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge — it was dubbed a "subway series." To accommodate viewers in the large Eastern media markets, the World Series games were scheduled to start around 5:30 p.m. California time; apparently, in the Bay Area, many people either left work early (to attend the games or attend watch parties) or stayed late for office watch parties. Consequently, the result was that the typical rush hour was not nearly as heavy as it would have under typical circumstances.

That meant that fewer people were on the bridge when the earthquake struck at 5:04 local time. If it had been a normal day, we were told later, the casualties would have been virtually incomprehensible.

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What could be seen on the TV screen was bad enough.

And I became very concerned about the safety of my friends, Mike and Jane, who had been living there for about a year or so. I tried to call them whenever I could, but I kept getting the same recorded message that my call could not be completed.

Finally, three days later, I got a call from Jane. It was the first opportunity she had had to contact friends and family to let them know she and Mike were all right.

She told me that she typically commuted across that bridge — and, on an ordinary day, she would have been right in the middle of the bridge when the earthquake struck. Because of the World Series, though, she told me she had already been off the bridge for five or 10 minutes when the earthquake happened.

I was really glad I didn't know her usual routine at the time of the earthquake. I would have been worried sick.

Mike, as it turned out, was home when the earthquake hit. They were living in a solid house — it survived the infamous 1906 earthquake with its 7.9 magnitude so the 7.1–magnitude "Lomo Prieta earthquake" (so named for the location of its epicenter) was no match for it. Mike said all that really happened was a few pictures were shaken from the wall.

Initially, there were reports that casualties numbered in the hundreds — but it turned out that only 63 people died. That is still 63 too many, but it was better than originally feared.

Action in the World Series was suspended for 10 days while the Bay Area cleaned up and started trying to return to normal. I was two time zones away, but I followed developments via TV. It was inspiring to see so many members of both baseball teams helping out in any way they could, shoulder to shoulder with many of their fans.

Of course, there are always those who look for ways to make money off other people's misfortune, and Mike and Jane told me that some enterprising folks printed up T–shirts that read, "I Survived the Pretty Big One."

I wouldn't have wanted to buy one of them and contribute to the guy who printed them — but I would have liked to have seen one. I've searched the internet, too, by the way, but I haven't found a photo of one yet.

Maybe it wasn't as much of a thriving cottage industry as Mike and Jane thought it was. Maybe their impression was fueled by seeing those shirts from time to time — and mistaking that for all the time. I don't know.

I just know I was glad to know my friends hadn't been hurt.

Pitcher Bob Welch Dies at 57

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Imagine being 21 years old, a rookie pitcher playing for the Los Angeles Dodgers, and you're in the World Series against the New York Yankees.

That was the situation in which Bob Welch found himself on the night of Wednesday, Oct. 11, 1978, when he came in to close out a 4–3 victory for Los Angeles. Starter Burt Hooton had gone six innings and staked the Dodgers to a one–run lead when he left; then reliever Terry Forster pitched 2⅓ solid innings but left after serving up a single and a walk in the ninth.

In came Welch.

In front of more than 55,000 fans in Dodger Stadium — and millions more watching on TV — Welch nailed down the save. He got Thurman Munson to fly out to right, then won an epic showdown with future Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson. Jackson had driven in all of the Yankees' runs that night, and he came to the plate with two outs and runners at first and second.

This was at the time, it should be noted, that Jackson was gaining his reputation as "Mister October." A year earlier, he hit three consecutive home runs to lift the Yankees to their World Series–clinching triumph over those same Dodgers and won the series MVP in the process.

He could have evened the game with a well–hit ball, but the young Welch gunned him down. Jackson struck out swinging, and Welch had preserved the victory for the Dodgers.

Los Angeles would lose the next four games — and the Series — to the Yankees.

The Dodgers ended up trading Welch to Oakland following the 1987 season. The A's faced the Dodgers in the World Series in 1988, and Welch pitched in the only game Oakland won. He didn't get the win — another ex–Dodger, Rick Honeycutt, got the win in relief after Mark McGwire hit a one–out home run in the eighth.

A couple of years later, Welch won the Cy Young Award. He won 27 games that year and remains the last pitcher to win 25 games or more in a single season.

Welch died yesterday at the age of 57. At this point, his cause of death remains undisclosed.

Kirk Gibson's Walk-off Home Run

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I'm a Los Angeles Dodgers fan. Always have been. I don't really know why. I've never lived in Los Angeles. In fact, I've only been there twice in my life.

I grew up in central Arkansas, which was kind of an extension of St. Louis Cardinals territory. There was a minor league team in Little Rock that was affiliated with the Cardinals for a long time, and, when I was a child, I could always get Cardinals games on my radio. When folks in my hometown went on a summer vacation, nine times out of 10 they went to St. Louis to see a game or two. Heck, even my family did that a couple of times — and no one in my family could be called a Cardinals fan.

It would have been so easy to do as most of my friends did and take the Cardinals as my team. But I guess I wanted to assert my individuality so I picked the Dodgers.

And I have been loyal to the Dodgers ever since.

They haven't always made it easy. Many times, they haven't come close to being in the playoffs. Then, when they have been in the playoffs, they've often found some way to blow it.

They're in the playoffs again this yearm currently facing the St. Louis Cardinals for the National League championship. The Cardinals won the first two games during the weekend, but the Dodgers won Game 3 last night and are hoping to even the series tonight.

I discovered it was a small club, too. that list of Dodger loyalists. I didn't know any other Dodger fans when I was growing up. I met one or two in college, and I met one or two after I finished work on my bachelor's degree so I know that Dodger fans did exist in Arkansas when I lived there. They were just few and far between.

The last time the Dodgers were in the World Series, 25 years ago, I was certain they were going to lose it. They had had a spectacular run that year, beating the favored New York Mets for the National League title, and pitcher Orel Hershiser had had a remarkable year, setting a record for consecutive scoreless innings pitched in the waning weeks of the regular season.

But the foe in the World Series would be the Oakland A's, an intimidating team that had rolled through their American League competition behind the exploits of the so–called "Bash Brothers," Jose Canseco and Mark McGwire. Oakland swept the Boston Red Sox in the AL playoffs that year.

The A's won four more games that season than the Mets did. Their 104–victory total was greater than any American League team except one in nearly 20 years — the 1984 Detroit Tigers, who also won 104 games.

I just felt like the Dodgers couldn't compete with the A's. Neither did most sports observers.

In those days, I was working on the sports staff of a modestly sized afternoon newspaper in north Texas. Game 1 of the World Series was on a Saturday night, the one day of the week that a morning edition was prepared — for delivery on Sunday morning. Everyone on the staff was at work from about 3 in the afternoon until midnight.

The game began around 7 that night, and I timed my dinner break so I could run home and start my VCR with the first pitch. That way, I knew I could watch the game later.

As it was being played, though, I tried to monitor it from my desk, which was in view of the newsroom TV (there was no commercial internet to consult in 1988 — I had access to the sports wire, of course, and it provided score updates, but details were sketchy until game accounts began to move). From time to time, people came in from the backshop to ask about the score, and, for much of the evening, it seemed things were going to play out about as expected.

Things weren't going well for the Dodgers. They took a 2–0 lead in the first inning but immediately surrendered it to Oakland when the A's scored four runs in the top of the second.

The Dodgers added a run in the sixth but trailed, 4–3, in the bottom of the ninth.

Kirk Gibson had been the offensive star of the season for the Dodgers, but he was hobbled by injuries to both legs and had not started the game that night. However, in the ninth inning, he decided to make himself available for pinch–hitting duty and came to bat with one on and two out.

What followed was so implausible, so dramatic that no novelist or screen writer could have gotten away with writing it.

Oakland's ace reliever, Dennis Eckersley, was on the mound. No other reliever in the majors had as many saves as Eckersley did that year. Oakland fans regarded him as automatic — and rightfully so.

The count was full, there was a runner at second, and Eckersley threw a slider. Gibson swung, connected and drilled it over the fence.

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Most people, when asked what they remember about that moment, will tell you they remember Gibson pumping his right arm in jubilation as he circled the bases.

And I remember that, too. (It was the crowning touch on a moment in baseball history that has truly become iconic in the last quarter of a century. It is always shown in baseball's postseason, along with the clip that is arguably the Dodgers' lowest moment as a team — the Giants' Bobby Thomson's walk–off homer in the deciding game of the National League playoffs against the Dodgers in 1951.)

But what I remember most about that moment is watching Gibson's painful run around the bases. And I use the word run generously here. It wasn't really a run. It was more of a walk that was intended to be a run, but it just didn't work out. Sometimes it was a limp.

Kind of gave a new meaning to the term walk–off. Gibson's spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.

But, when you hit a home run, you don't get extra points — or credit — for running around the bases at a record clip. All you've got to do is touch each base — especially the last one.

And that's what Gibson did. The fact that it took him longer than usual to do it simply meant Dodger fans had more time to savor the moment — and A's fans had to suffer through it longer.

By the way, Gibson played for the '84 Tigers.

What Grieves Us

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"Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child's loss of a doll and a king's loss of a crown are events of the same size."

Mark Twain

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Traditionally, All Saints Day is observed by Christians on November 1 — but November 1 doesn't always fall on a Sunday so many churches observe All Saints Day on the Sunday before.

In some churches today, it will be noted that there have been fewer deaths in their congregations in the year just past than has been normal — and, in other churches, it will be noted that there have been more deaths than usual.

It is typically assumed — and deservedly so — that death refers to a physical death, but the grief that is brought on by a death can be the result of other losses that are near and dear to our hearts.

Consequently, I've been thinking a lot about Twain's comment in the aftermath of this year's World Series.

His statement applies to everything, really, but it seems particularly appropriate to those who follow sports teams. Defeat can truly feel like death, and the grief and pain people experience when their favorite teams lose can be as wrenching as losing a loved one. It may seem odd, even irreverent, to say that, but it is true.

I've written about this year's World Series a few times this week. I'm sure it will be the subject of many articles and books so I probably won't write about it again — at least, not for awhile. It was a truly remarkable series. Most of the people I have heard speak about it or who have written about it already have said it was the most exciting World Series in their memories.

It really was special — particularly in the cities most directly affected by the series, Dallas and St. Louis — but there were some excruciating moments, as there are bound to be when the participants are so evenly matched, that I am sure resonated with sports fans everywhere.

And, ultimately, even with all the praise for the series ringing in their ears, it was a painful experience for the people in Dallas. I've heard grown people say that they sobbed uncontrollably when the Rangers lost that sixth game the other night. Some said they didn't cry like that when their parents died.

It's a best–of–seven series, but, of course, it doesn't always go seven games. The first team to win four is the champion. If that's done in four games — or five or six — then it is over. No point in playing the rest. This one did go seven games, the first to do so in nearly 10 years.

And, in the end, St. Louis prevailed.

This series had plenty of ebbs and flows, close games and historic performances. Understandably, I suppose, Ranger fans feel frustrated. They suffered through decades of losing only to finally reach the World Series for the first time last year — and lose in five games.

They took it well, though. They were even philosophical about it. Those Rangers, the Keystone Kops of baseball, had made it to a World Series. Why, that was a victory in itself!

This year, the Rangers took it seven games — and were actually one strike away from winning it all — not once but twice — in that sixth game.

They were closer than they have ever been — or ever will be, until they finally cross that threshold — to winning it all. But just being there, just being close enough to taste victory, wasn't enough for the fans this time.

Some Ranger fans have taken a kind of elitist no one can understand our pain attitude in the aftermath of their defeat.

It has reminded me of a time when I was a child, and my family would come to Dallas to visit my grandparents — and they would lament the misfortunes of the Dallas Cowboys, of whom it was being said they could not win the "big one."

The same thing seems to have occurred to Randy Galloway of the Fort Worth Star–Telegram, who observed that, even though the Rangers went down quickly in last year's World Series, they were treated like kings here during the offseason.

Last winter, the Rangers had arrived as a legitimate baseball team, not just a source of idle entertainment between football seasons, and they were, in Galloway's words, "given the warm and fuzzy treatment."

That was understandable, I guess, given that last year's Rangers had done something that no other Rangers team had ever done. But this time, Galloway writes, it "wasn't about just being back in the World Series. This was about winning the thing."

They returned as two–time failures to a city that was hungry beyond words for a baseball championship. It reminded me of Tom Landry and his Dallas Cowboys of the 1960s — good enough to make it to the NFL championship game but never quite good enough to get to the Super Bowl.

In "the long winter" that awaits them, Galloway writes, the Rangers can expect a less friendly, more demanding fan base. Expectations were raised — perhaps to unreasonable heights — when the Rangers returned to the World Series for the second straight year, and now they must deal with fans who are surly after losing for the second straight year.

Whether the fans here acknowledged it or not, there was a lot of pressure on these Rangers to produce. During the sixth game, I was monitoring the conversations on Facebook between my friends in both places, and the Rangers fans were already speculating about the details of their victory parade — before the Cardinals rallied twice and swung the momentum in their favor for good.

Perhaps the more religious among us will attach some greater significance to what happened, but if there is anything to be learned from that game, I suppose, it is that one shouldn't start taking victory laps until the game is won. Officially.

I guess that falls under the heading of "Monday morning quarterbacking," as one disappointed Rangers fan said to me on Friday, but it's a point that has been made time and time again throughout history.

It is no less painful for those who must learn that lesson anew.

And grief, as Twain knew, is not a small thing.

The Game That Wouldn't End

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Epic.

That seems to be the best word to describe what unfolded last night at Busch Stadium in the sixth game of this year's World Series.

If you didn't see it, the bottom line is that St. Louis beat Texas, 10–9, to force tonight's Game 7. That's a much higher score than one ordinarily sees in any major league baseball game, even in the American League with its designated hitter rule.

But even the knowledge that 19 runs were scored doesn't fully do justice to how all those runs were scored — to the fact that the Cardinals were a single strike away from defeat — not once but twice — and came back to win.

In the last minutes of Thursday or the earliest minutes of Friday, the Cardinals officially overcame the Rangers with a walk–off home run and made tonight's Game 7 necessary.

Joe Strauss of the St. Louis Post–Dispatch wrote, fittingly, that it was a moment that was "too complex to fully understand but too compelling to ignore."

Those are the words from the winning side — and I'm sure Cardinals fans do feel that what they saw last night really was too complex to understand but impossible to ignore. Some may be inclined to attach some sort of religious significance to what happened.

As Bernie Miklasz writes in the Post–Dispatch, "Their strength never wanes. Their will to win never fades. Until the end, this proud and resilient team believed. They knew that somehow the dream would stay alive."

Has a biblical sound to it, doesn't it? You can almost hear him exhorting the faithful to open their hymnals.

Here in north Texas, the pain of defeat is everywhere this morning. Anyone who considers himself or herself to be a sports fan surely understands how the fans here feel. Everyone has had that feeling.

Not everyone claims to have spoken directly to God, though, but Texas' Josh Hamilton does, according to Eddie Sefko of the Dallas Morning News.

Hamilton, Sefko reports, says God told him he was going to hit a home run in the 10th inning of last night's game.

"He said, 'You haven't hit one in a while and this is the time you're going to,' " Hamilton said. "But there was a period at the end of that. He didn't say, 'You're going to hit it and you're going to win.' "

OK. It's really hard to know God's reason for speaking to Hamilton and telling him that he would hit a home run that, in the end, would not win the game for his team. The Lord apparently didn't share his reason with Hamilton, but I have to wonder why he would tell a player that he would hit a home run that would ultimately mean little to anyone except that player.

Why, for that matter, would he even bother to tell Hamilton that he's going to hit a home run? He doesn't seem inclined to share more important insights with those in a position to influence economies and global conflicts.

Guess he must know what he's doing, though. After all, people are always saying that he has a plan, which suggests there must be a reason for everything that happens — even when bad things happen that devastate lives while good things, like Hamilton's dinger, ultimately mean nothing to anyone except him.

Oh, well.

If the Rangers lose this series — and they're facing Chris Carpenter, who won Game 1 in St. Louis and got a no–decision in Game 5 in Arlington — they may be sorry they used Derek Holland in a relief role last night.

I think that is a decision the Rangers may well regret.

Holland nearly threw a complete–game shutout at the Cardinals on Sunday. If Game 6 had been played on Wednesday as scheduled, Holland probably wouldn't have had enough rest to start a Game 7 on Thursday.

But, with the one–day delay, he would have been rested enough to pitch tonight. Instead, Texas manager Ron Washington chose to use him in a relief role last night, clearly in the hope that he could wrap things up in six, and stick with his original choice to start Game 7, Matt Harrison, if it went that far.

Which it has.

In his last appearance, Harrison had time to take his shower, get into his street clothes and find a bar to have a beer and watch the end of Game 3, in which Albert Pujols became only the third man to hit three home runs in a World Series game.

Strategically, it is hard for me to see why Harrison would be preferable over Holland — if it had been up to me, with Rangers leading the Series 3–2, I would have used Harrison in middle relief and save Holland for a potential — and, now, definite — Game 7.

The Cardinals haven't proved they can hit Holland. But they have proved they can hit Harrison.

Meanwhile, the Rangers have had problems with Carpenter.

I think it will be a good game, a low–scoring game, and I think the Cardinals will win it.

Let's get it on.

Billy Buck's Boo-Boo

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At one time or another, I guess, most American boys play organized baseball.

And most probably fantasize about driving in the run that wins the World Series for their teams.

If that is the dream, then what happened to Bill Buckner on this night 25 years ago is the nightmare.

Buckner's Boston Red Sox were one out away from ending a World Series drought that had existed since 1918. In fact, the scoreboard in New York's Shea Stadium flashed a congratulatory message — briefly.

But that turned out to be premature.

The Mets, who had given up two runs in the top of the 10th, scored a run, then had the tying run on third and the winning run on first. Mookie Wilson was at the plate against a new pitcher, who threw a wild pitch, scoring the tying run and putting the winning run at second.

Wilson then hit a slow grounder in the direction of veteran first baseman Bill Buckner, who seemed sure to make the play. But the ball took a strange hop just before it got to Buckner and rolled into the outfield, allowing Ray Knight to score the winning run from second.

The cameras almost immediately zeroed in on home plate, where Knight was scoring the winning run, but they lingered for a few seconds on Buckner after the ball got away from him, providing the image I will always remember from that night — Buckner standing forlornly at first while his teammates scrambled to retrieve the ball in the outfield.

My instinct would have been to run after that ball, even if I knew deep in my heart that there was no way I could reach it before one of the other players did — and, even more importantly, before Knight could score that winning run. My mind wouldn't let me accept that the die had been cast, that it was over.

But it was as if Buckner realized, in that split second when the ball took its inexplicable jump, that it was over, and he was resigned to the abuse that he knew would come his way.

Actually, it wasn't the end of the Series. The Red Sox brought a 3–2 lead to New York and needed to win either Game 6 or Game 7. The game that was played 25 years ago tonight was only the sixth game. The Red Sox could have won the seventh game and been world champions, but the pitching staff fell apart, as it had been inclined to do against the Mets.

As it did in Game 6 when that wild pitch allowed the tying run to score.

It wasn't Buckner's fault that Boston lost that seventh game, either. He went two for four at the plate and committed no errors in the field. In fact, Buckner even scored a run in Boston's comeback attempt in the late innings, but it simply wasn't enough.

Besides, the Mets were favored to win that Series before it began — and they weren't slight favorites, either. The Mets were heavy favorites that year.

The fact that the Mets won it was no real surprise. What was surprising was the way that title was won.

I knew it was a bitter experience for Red Sox fans — to be so close and see it slip through their fingers — and I empathized with them. But that did not excuse how they treated Buckner when the Series was over.

One would have thought he was a latter–day Shoeless Joe Jackson — except Shoeless Joe at least got the gamblers' money. As far as I can see, Billy Buck got nothing but abuse.

Say it ain't so, Billy Buck. But it was so. It just wasn't intentional.

What happened 25 years ago tonight had to be one of the strangest finishes of any game in World Series history — and it was almost immediately taken to be the latest confirmation of the existence of the "Curse of the Bambino" — the superstitious belief that, when the Red Sox sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees, a "curse" was put on the franchise, preventing it from winning a championship.

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I always felt it was unfair for Buckner to be subjected to the abuse of the frustrated Boston baseball fans — just as I always thought it was unfair when the fans of another long–suffering baseball franchise blamed their team's 2003 postseason defeat on a fellow fan's innocent reach for a foul ball.

Team sports are precisely that — team sports. On extremely rare occasions, a team's loss is clearly the fault of a single player or an official's bad call; on even rarer occasions, a loss is the fault of an innocent bystander.

Most of the time, though, it is the result of a team effort. Teams win and lose as teams.

Whether such a thing as the "Curse of the Bambino" ever really existed, the Red Sox, who had won several titles before selling Ruth to the Yankees, went on to lose the 1986 World Series to the other New York team.

The Sox did not win another title until 2004. The Yankees, meanwhile, became the most successful franchise in major league baseball after acquiring the Babe.

I don't know if that was a curse, but 25 years ago tonight, Buckner probably would have told you that it sure wasn't a blessing.

Anyway, after the perceived "curse" was gone, the Red Sox were just another team again, and they were free to play ball without the weight of all those years on their shoulders.

A few years later, they won another title, and no one, as I recall, said anything about a "curse." As he watched the Series, Buckner (who, ironically, played for the Cubs before coming to Boston) may have thought about it and reflected that 21st century ball players don't know the meanings of the words pressure, expectations and superstition.

But the following spring, Buckner participated in the unfurling of the world championship banner at Boston's Fenway Park. The fans gave him a standing ovation, and Buckner later spoke of a sense of closure that came from being in the ballpark on that day.

"I really had to forgive, not the fans of Boston, per se, but I would have to say in my heart I had to forgive the media for what they put me and my family through," he said.

And now, Billy Buck's boo–boo is a part of baseball lore.

One For The Ages

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Gosh, you know, it seems like only yesterday that Jayson Stark of ESPN.com was saying that this year's World Series was going to be must–see television ...

Wait a minute. It was only yesterday. And Stark was writing in the context of the first two games, which were low–scoring nail–biters. Each was decided by a single run.

That really seems remarkable to me in hindsight, though, because Stark wrote that before Albert Pujols did something that no other non–New York Yankee had ever done.

He hit three home runs in a single World Series game.

Babe Ruth did it twice for the Yankees in the 1920s. And Reggie Jackson did it once for the Yankees in 1977.

Ruth, of course, achieved it in the days before television — so, other than the fans sitting in Sportsman's Park on Oct. 6, 1926 or the fans sitting in Sportsman's Park on Oct. 9, 1928, no one saw it.

I suppose the people of that time might have been able to witness either of those accomplishments on the newsreels at their local theaters — except they didn't really come along until a few years later.

Consequently, Ruth's achievements — which sandwiched his historic 1927 season, in which he hit 60 home runs and set a record that stood for more than 30 years — were seen by a comparatively tiny sample of America's population.

Any baseball fans who were not fortunate enough to be in Sportsman's Park (which, ironically, was in St. Louis) on either of those days had to wait nearly 50 years to see that accomplishment matched.

What viewers saw last night is something exceedingly rare, something that sports fans have witnessed en masse only once before — on Oct. 18, 1977, when Reggie Jackson hit three home runs and drove a huge stake through the hearts of Dodger fans (and I know because I am a Dodger fan).

Needless to say, I guess, Game 3 of this year's series wasn't as close as the first two games were.

Well, the experts were saying that the warmer temperatures and the hitter–friendly park would lead to more runs.

Maybe that is what it was.

But I'm more inclined to think it was Albert being Albert.

He's a difference maker.

A New Attitude

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There is a new attitude here in north Texas these days — at least among baseball fans.

Some things haven't changed.

Diehard football fans are still living and dying — mostly dying — with the outcomes of Cowboys games.

Diehard basketball fans continue to wonder if they will get to see the Mavericks defend their NBA title this year.

There are still some diehard hockey fans around here, too. The bandwagon jumpers who followed the Stars when it was trendy — after they won a Stanley Cup more than a decade ago — have mostly jumped off now so the Stars crowds are almost entirely genuine hockey enthusiasts.

But until last year, the Texas Rangers were lovable losers who had never even caught much of a whiff of the World Series — let alone been immersed in its magical waters. For many years, if one went to a Rangers game, it was for the entertainment value alone, not because the Rangers were anything approaching legitimate contenders.

Now, I'll admit that I feel pulled by both sides when it comes to this year's World Series. I have friends who live in the St. Louis area. My goddaughter lives in the St. Louis area with her young son. But my family's roots are here in the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex. I have lived here for most of the last 20 years.

So I am torn. As Mark Twain replied when asked whether he preferred heaven or hell, I have friends in both places.

The Cardinals have been here many times before. In fact, no other major league team — except the Yankees — has won as many world championships as the Cardinals.

When the Rangers finally scaled that mountain last year, they and their fans celebrated winning the American League championship — and were glad merely to be in the big show.

Not too surprisingly, the Rangers went down in five games.

Now that the Rangers are back in the World Series, just getting there won't be enough. Even this area's most casual baseball fans — the ones for whom a trip to Arlington still qualifies as entertainment and not some sort of pilgrimage — know that.

Jeff Wilson of the Fort Worth Star–Telegram mentioned that difference in attitude in yesterday's column. But Wilson wrote that the difference for the players was visible on their airplane ride home from St. Louis.

The pressure they felt being down 0–2 to San Francisco when they returned to Texas for Game 3 last year was nowhere to be seen this year. These Rangers are more relaxed, more confident.

No, just being there won't be satisfactory this time. I've heard countless people around here speaking of how the momentum of the series shifted in the Rangers' favor when they rallied to win Game 2 the other night — and how home field advantage belongs to Texas now.

But the games that will be played here almost certainly will be different from the ones that we saw played in St. Louis. They will require both managers to make different kinds of strategic decisions.

And, frankly, while the first two games were thrillers, these lineups just have too much pop for either team to settle for 2–1 and 3–2 victories. A persuasive argument can be made that both teams are overdue for an offensive explosion.

As most people acknowledge, The Ballpark in Arlington is much more hitter–friendly than Busch Stadium, but that doesn't seem special to me. St. Louis has always been tough for hitters.

I went to many games in the old Busch Stadium, and it was never known as a hitters' park. Mark McGwire was probably the only genuine power hitter to play in St. Louis since the days of Stan the Man — until Albert Pujols came along.

For as long as I can remember, the Cardinals built teams around pitching and defense. On offense, they scratched out hits and were aggressive on the base paths, but, at best, their power hitters supplied 20 or 25 home runs a season.

That's not a very good description of the modern version of the Cardinals, though. Everyone already knew about Pujols, but the postseason has given the rest of the country the opportunity to become familiar with a whole roster of guys who can produce at the plate.

Bernie Miklasz of the St. Louis Post–Dispatch writes that "[t]here's no reason to believe the Cardinals will remain in the slumber mode."

In 2011, Miklasz points out, "the Cardinals averaged more road runs than every American League team. And the Cardinals will have a DH in their lineup over the next three games. So there's really no excuse for Cardinals hitters to struggle."

Except, perhaps, for the sheer resolve of the Rangers — and their devoted followers — to win it all this time.

I teach writing at the local community college, and one of my students will be at tonight's Game 3. We talked about it the other day in class. He is part of the emerging generation of Rangers followers, the ones who don't remember the long years of losing their elders endured after the old Washington Senators moved here in the early 1970s.

He remembers only the years when the Rangers have contended, even made the playoffs, but fallen short. He can't understand the frustration of people around here who have been following this ball club for four decades.

He doesn't remember the time when the Dallas Cowboys ruled the football world. The Cowboys haven't played in a Super Bowl in his memory. But he has seen the hockey team win it all and the basketball team win it all, and he wants to see the baseball team win it all, too.

He isn't alone. Then again, everyone seems to have an opinion about this series.

Joe Lemire of Sports Illustrated anticipates a jump in run production now that the Series has moved southwest about 550 miles.

The weather will be warmer, he points out — can't argue with that since today's high around here is supposed to be 84° while the high in St. Louis is expected to be 70°, but we're in the unpredictable time of year in these parts.

Perhaps you've heard of that devastating drought we've been experiencing here this year? We hardly had a drop of rain all summer, but suddenly rain has emerged as a threat in the baseball postseason. Already at Arlington they've had one playoff game delayed for a couple of hours by rain, and another game was rained out and had to be played the following day.

We may be in for more of the same tonight. The National Weather Service says there is a 50% chance of rain after the sun goes down.

If they're able to play, Gerry Fraley of the Dallas Morning News writes that St. Louis starter Kyle Lohse might struggle tonight. His previous appearances in Arlington didn't go well — but it's been more than five years since he started a game here, and he is a different pitcher now.

And, if this series goes six or seven games — and, consequently, must return to St. Louis — the outlook is for wetter, cooler weather on the days when the last two games are scheduled to be played.

We might see some high–scoring games in Arlington over the next few days — only to go back to St. Louis next week to see that offensive fire doused by a cold rain and harkening the return of the 2–1 and 3–2 scores.

Jayson Stark of ESPN.com thinks we might be on the brink of "something special." The first two games were nail–biters, he observes. If you aren't watching, you're missing out.

Let's get it on.

Lighting Up the Night

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If you've been watching the baseball playoffs, you have undoubtedly seen several games played at night — even some that weren't intended to be at night but slipped into prime time thanks to rain delays.

Night games are routine — in both regular season and postseason play — now.

But it was done for the first time in the World Series 40 years ago today.

Night games weren't new in 1971. Major league baseball had been playing night games since 1935, and the first night All–Star game was played in 1943, but postseason games continued to be played during daylight hours.

Then, on this night in 1971, everything changed. The lights came on in Pittsburgh, and baseball fans across the nation watched the World Series in prime time.

Baseball continued to play some World Series games during the day — primarily the games that were played on Saturdays and Sundays — but, by 1987, every World Series game was played under the lights.

Thus, a modern baseball fan under the age of 30 probably would have no memory of a time when some World Series games were played during the day — as they were when Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle played the game.

While it has meant greater access to the games for more people, I always felt something was lost when they stopped playing World Series games during the day.

I remember when I was in elementary school, and my friends and I were very interested in the World Series that was being played. The Series was between two baseball powerhouses of that time, the Baltimore Orioles and the Cincinnati Reds, and my friends and I were following it as closely as we could, but the weekday games were all in the afternoons — when we were in school.

Our principal must have been a baseball fan because he sympathized with us and told us we could watch the games on the TV that was in the cafeteria as long as we remained silent and did not chatter among ourselves. We were on our best behavior, and we got to watch the games — while our classmates spent those afternoons in the dull pursuits we baseball followers had escaped. It was a delicious feeling — like being allowed to play hookey with the principal's blessing.

Perhaps he was the one who monitored us during the games. I don't recall. I only remember that I was totally engrossed in watching future Hall of Famers Brooks Robinson (a local hero, having come from nearby Little Rock) and Frank Robinson lead the Orioles against Pete Rose, Johnny Bench and the Big Red Machine.

As long as I can remember, there has been something special about the sight of a baseball field bathed in sunshine — even if your lungs couldn't relish the smell of the dirt and the freshly cut grass.

The picture in my mind from that World Series is of sun–drenched fields, even though the games were being played in northern cities, and crisp baseball uniforms. Well, it seemed that way on a black–and–white TV.

It is a cherished memory and experience for me — the kind of pleasure 21st century boys will never know. Too bad.

Oh, and just for the record.

Pittsburgh beat Baltimore in that first World Series night game.

The Promised Land?

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Here in Dallas, Texas, there is a sense of inevitability settling in after last night's astonishing come–from–behind triumph over Oklahoma City in the NBA Western Conference finals.

The Christian Science Monitor called it "one of the most jaw–dropping comebacks in NBA history."

That may be true. I've seen some pretty amazing comebacks in my life, but nothing to compare with what happened about 200 miles north of here last night.

I'm not an NBA fan, but I will admit that I have been watching more lately. However, I had given the game up for lost. I left my TV on and went about some other things in my apartment. I could monitor the game, but, having conceded defeat, I didn't feel I needed to sit and watch it.

I changed my mind a few minutes later.

Down by 15 points with about five minutes to play, the Mavericks doggedly chipped away at the upstarts from OKC, forced the game into overtime and, as Eddie Sefko writes in the Dallas Morning News, never trailed in overtime (after never leading during regulation).

When the Mavericks returned to Dallas early this morning, a couple hundred people were on hand to meet them.

Today the giddiness and disbelief from last night seems to be morphing into supreme confidence, even cockiness. Sure, I heard one man say, there have been teams that have come back from a 3–1 deficit but not many.

Not many, but some. To pull that one off, it seems to me that a team has to be loaded with playoff veterans with the discipline and the concentration to remain focused on the task at hand.

I have my doubts that Oklahoma City can do that.

But as my friend who used to cover horse racing during our mutual Arkansas Gazette days like to say, there is no such thing as a sure thing.

It could happen. It isn't likely, but it could happen.

However, I will assume that the Mavericks — who would have to lose at home not once but twice for the Thunder to leapfrog them into the NBA Finals — will face either Miami or Chicago for the NBA title.

That would mean that the Dallas area will have hosted

• the World Series


• the Super Bowl and


• the NBA Finals

within a single calendar year.

As far as I know, that would be a first.

Mind you, I'm not talking about cities that had teams that participated in three major professional sports championships within a calendar year.

(I think New York came close to that when the Jets played in the Super Bowl in January 1969, the Mets played in the World Series that autumn and the Knicks played in the NBA Finals in the spring of 1970. Technically, that exceeded a calendar year, but New York did win all three.)

The site of the Super Bowl is decided years ahead of time. It has been played annually for 45 years, and, while it is not the NFL's explicit policy to prohibit cities without NFL teams from hosting Super Bowls, no city without an NFL franchise has ever hosted one.

And no host city's team has ever played in one.

For awhile, folks around here figured the Cowboys would be the team to change that. It didn't happen. Instead, two of the Cowboys' old postseason rivals met in the Super Bowl in February.

But it was played here in Dallas. In October, the Texas Rangers brought the World Series here for the first time — and now it appears the NBA Finals will be played here, too.

I think that's a first.

Scenes From a Series

History will be made here tonight when the Texas Rangers host the first World Series game in their existence.

No doubt many folks in these parts had something quite different in mind, though. They didn't expect to need to rally these Rangers from a 2–0 deficit in this best–of–seven series.

It was bad enough when, as Mark Purdy of the San Jose Mercury News wrote, the Giants claimed a "psychedelic" 11–7 victory in Game 1.

They were playing in San Francisco, after all, so I guess it was appropriate that the first game was something of a mind–altering experience. Certainly, it altered perceptions — of players, of pitching rotations, of victory scenarios.

Of teams.

But at least the Rangers were conscious in that game. It was hard to tell in Game 2. The Giants won, 9–0.

Tonight, they return to Arlington, to home cooking and their long–suffering fans. And the objective should be clear, writes Jean–Jacques Taylor in the Dallas Morning News.

In the words of Al Davis — Just win, baby.

Just win this game. Worry about Game 4 tomorrow. And Game 5, if there is one, on Monday.

But don't think about those games — or the games that were played in San Francisco on Wednesday and Thursday.

A win can make a big difference, at least temporarily.

A win can take that monkey off the Rangers' backs. They will know that they can win against these Giants, that it is possible.

That is not something they can say with confidence today.

But if they win today, they know they will get two more games in Arlington. And they will have a chance to return to San Francisco with a 3–2 lead.

But if the Giants win today, the Rangers will be down 3–0. They will have to run the table against a team they still haven't proven they can beat at least once.

So they better not think about that right now.

Or that, historically, teams who got off to 2–0 leads in the World Series went on to win it all about 80% of the time.

The odds are against these Rangers, no matter what happens tonight.

But the odds will be much longer if they don't win this one.

And, Now, the World Series ...

As I wrote the other day, folks in north Texas have been waiting a long time for a World Series to come here.

Tonight, the long wait comes to an end.

Well, not literally.

I mean, the first World Series game to be played in north Texas is still a few days away.

But tonight, the Texas Rangers will make their first World Series appearance when they take the field in San Francisco.

And a fellow named Darrell Cook — who happens to be a lawyer from Irving — will be there, too.

Cook made a motion to postpone a pretrial conference in a lawsuit in which he is participating so he could attend the game. That conference was supposed to be held this afternoon. But the judge granted the request.

OK, the postponement really isn't a big deal. As Mede Nix writes in the Dallas Morning News, the hearing really is a routine matter.

Still, why did it have to be postponed? The case involves the City of Irving and the Villas of Irving (which, Nix reports, Cook represents). If Cook has a partner, couldn't the partner attend the meeting in his place?

Should a baseball game — even the first game in the World Series — permit the judicial system to be slowed down even more than it already is?

Around here, I guess, some folks would say yes. Certainly, that's what Darrell Cook would say — if you could reach him. But he's probably flying to the West Coast right now — and you know the airlines don't like for folks to use their cell phones during flight.

Tim Cowlishaw writes, in the Dallas Morning News, that the Rangers will win in seven games — which would be quite dramatic. It certainly would set up a storybook ending with the Rangers looking for their first title and the Giants looking for their first since they were the New York Giants.

Over at the Fort Worth Star–Telegram, Ray Buck has learned there is some mileage to be gained from this Cinderella angle.

And Gil LeBreton, in a Star–Telegram column that most Giants fans are not likely to see (unless they surf over to the Star–Telegram's website), urges San Francisco baseball fans — for whom "Giants baseball ... torture" appears to have become a local rallying cry — not to compare their stories of victimization to the Rangers' fans. It's just no contest.

In another year — when the Cowboys weren't 1–5 and the Texas Longhorns weren't 4–3 — even a berth in the World Series for the Rangers might not warrant this much attention.

But sports fans around here are hungry for a winner, damn it!

And a majority of Sports Illustrated's "experts" think they'll get it.

The Notorious Blown Call

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I will always remember the night of Saturday, Oct. 26, 1985.

I was working on the sports copy desk of the Arkansas Gazette in Little Rock. Football season was two months old, and I had been working there long enough to know that Fridays and Saturdays in the fall meant everyone on the sports staff had to be in the office to handle the workload.

Football season was — and is — serious business in Arkansas. High school. College. The pros. All of it.

The University of Arkansas' Razorbacks, of course, were — as they are today — at the center of attention, but every high school in the state had its rabid followers for whom every Friday night in the fall was a life–and–death situation. And the pros — mostly the Cowboys when I was growing up — had plenty of devotees.

The Gazette's longtime sports editor, Orville Henry, was widely credited with saving the paper in the late 1950s when readers were leaving it over its series of Pulitzer Prize–winning editorials supporting the integration of Little Rock Central High School.

How did he do that? By promising that, during football season, the Gazette would have, in the Saturday morning papers, the scores from every football game involving every high school in the state that fielded a football team.

The Gazette, you see, served the entire state, and most of its sports readers, whether they lived in Little Rock or its neighboring counties or any of the 75 counties within Arkansas' borders, cared about high school football. But the paper had multiple deadlines each night, and the edition that went out to the far corners of the state went to press long before any night games had ended. Those readers — in places like Fayetteville and Blytheville and Texarkana and points in between — didn't expect to get the football scores in their Saturday morning papers.

But the edition that went out to the neighboring counties in central Arkansas went to press around 11 at night, and the city edition went to press around 12:30, so there were plenty of readers who did expect to see those scores in the paper that was delivered to their doorsteps on Saturday mornings.

And everyone on the sports staff had to stay in the office until we had scores for every game. As the hours went by, staffers were calling anyone they could think of from areas where we hadn't heard a score — a principal, a teacher, the county sheriff.

Many times, we published scores based on something as iffy as "Well, I think the score was ..." I'm sure we got it wrong sometimes. But, in all the years I worked there, we always had a score, whether it was right or wrong, for every game when the city edition went to bed on Friday nights.

There were — and, I presume, still are, although there was considerable consternation over the possibility of school consolidation at the time I left — many tiny, rural high schools all across the state. And it could be quite challenging at times to get their scores.

I was there for four football seasons, and I remember nights when we were in the office until nearly 3 in the morning trying to track down the score from a single football game.

I guess it goes without saying that, on many Saturdays, the sports staff was dragging.

I don't remember if Friday, Oct. 25, 1985, was such a night. It may well have been one of those (comparably rare) football Friday nights when everything went smoothly and we managed to put the paper to bed at what was a normal time for us. But, for those of us in the sports department, it was a time of year when things were complicated by the World Series.

And the sixth game of the World Series was to be played that Saturday night. The teams that were playing were the Kansas City Royals and the St. Louis Cardinals in what was known as the "I–70 Series" — in honor of the highway that directly connects the two cities.

With both of the teams coming from cities in the state the bordered Arkansas to the north, it should be obvious that there was a distinctly regional flavor to that year's World Series.

When I was growing up, central Arkansas was Cardinal country, and that tradition was alive and well in the Gazette newsroom in 1985. Lots of people, whether they worked on the sports side or not, were openly pulling for the Cardinals.

But there was no TV in the newsroom in those days — so many folks who had to work at night (usually that was almost exclusively the copy desk, but there were some reporters who wrote at night) had to listen to the radio at their desks if they wanted to know the score in that pre–internet world.

The Cardinals led the Royals, three games to two, when the Series returned to Kansas City, and St. Louis was on the brink of winning its second world title in four years. One of the guys on the sports copy desk brought a TV to the newsroom that night so we could watch the game while we worked.

And it was about the most dramatic World Series game I have ever seen.

It started as a pitchers' duel. Neither team scored until the Cardinals managed to score a run in the top of the eighth, and it looked like they were on their way. But, in the bottom of the ninth, trailing by a run, the Royals scored two runs, thanks to a blown call at first base by umpire Don Denkinger.

I guess it is possible that the Royals might have scored two runs in their half of the ninth even if Denkinger had made the right call. But it would have been a lot more difficult to achieve.

Replays from every angle clearly confirmed that Denkinger had made the wrong call, but he stubbornly refused to reverse himself and there was no mechanism in place for overturning an umpire's call through the use of instant replay. The call stood; the Royals rallied for an improbable victory and forced the decisive Game 7 the next night.

Except for football, major team sports championships are decided in a best–of–seven playoff series. When they happen, Game 7s are often dramatic events, reflecting the even split of the previous six games.

But there was nothing terribly dramatic about Game 7 of the 1985 World Series.

Maybe the Cardinals were shell–shocked, having come so tantalizingly close to winning the World Series only to have it snatched away from them by something that was beyond their control.

Whatever it was, the Cardinals, who had looked unbeatable on the eve of their series with their meek sister from western Missouri, couldn't scratch out a single run in the finale. Their manager, Whitey Herzog, and their pitcher, Joaquin Andujar, were ejected from the game, and Kansas City won a blowout, 11–0.

Compared to the previous night, it was anticlimactic.

Field of Dreams

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Baseball fans in these parts have been dreaming for a long time.

The local major league baseball team, the Texas Rangers, began its existence as the Washington Senators in 1961. Following the 1971 season, the team relocated to north Texas and has gone under the name of the Texas Rangers since 1972.

It took the Rangers nearly a quarter of century even to get into the postseason — and they only recently tasted victory in the playoffs for the first time — but, although most of the early Rangers teams weren't very impressive, loyal baseball fans still sang the official team song before each home game and after the team's triumphs between 1975 and 1980 ...

... And dreamed of scaling baseball's heights.

Those long–suffering fans are entitled to savor the Rangers' American League championship, writes Richard Justice in the Houston Chronicle. It's been a "long, odd, agonizing trip," he says, "and because it has taken 39 years, because the Texas Rangers have had a view of the bottom of the baseball world for so long, this moment is that much more special."

This morning, the Rangers are closer than they have ever been to proclaiming themselves kings of the baseball world. Believe it or not. And even I have to pinch myself at times to remind myself that — wait for it — the World Series really is coming here.

We already knew that the Super Bowl will be played here next February. They determine those things years ahead of time. But there was no way — until last night — that anyone could have known that the World Series would be played here just a few months before.

America's two greatest professional sports championships will be played here in north Texas within four months of each other. How incredible is that?

As Jon Paul Morosi writes for Fox Sports, the Rangers' series with the New York Yankees was pretty one–sided. With the exception of a single late–game meltdown, the Rangers simply overwhelmed New York.

Surprisingly, it never really was close.

Evan Grant writes, in the Dallas Morning News, that the Rangers need an icon that is worthy of their never–say–die resilience.

"All things locally are now officially possible," writes Randy Galloway in the Fort Worth Star–Telegram, "even logical."

And, after the Rangers disposed of the two best teams in the American League, who's to say they won't be able to toss aside either the Giants or the Phillies like rag dolls in the World Series?

I guess, to a certain extent, the Rangers have a lot of folks in this city dreaming this morning. Even me. And I'm not even that much of a baseball fan anymore. I used to be — and I still pull for the team I have always pulled for, the Los Angeles Dodgers, even though I've never lived less than two time zones from L.A. — but it's been more than 10 years since I attended a game.

Anyway, I stand corrected. I was skeptical about their chances against the Yankees, and they proved me wrong.

As Galloway said, all things now seem possible. Perhaps we'll have a World Series parade in Dallas in early November.

North Texas is an area that is hungry beyond words for a champion. It's been more than a decade (and, pardner, that's a long time by Dallas standards) since a champion in any professional sport was crowned around here — and that was in, of all things, hockey!

The basketball team did play in its championship series a few years ago but fell flat.

And the football team hasn't lived up to local preseason expectations for 15 years.

(That's a lifetime for you and me.)

Now, the Rangers can erase — at least, temporarily — the disappointments and the frustrations that have been shouldered by sports fans in this city for years.

I think it is safe to say that, if this city must wait another 39 years for a World Series to come to Arlington, most of us will not be around to see it.

So, for those of us who live here, this is probably our chance.

But this is their moment.

Both the Giants and the Phillies have had their opportunities to win it all in my memory. But not the Rangers. Never before.

My father always encouraged me to root for the underdog. He grew up in Dallas, but he wasn't a product of years of pulling for the woeful Rangers. He'd been away from the Metroplex for many years before the Rangers came to town.

I don't know if the Rangers will be the favorites or the underdogs in this World Series.

And I've been a National League partisan most of my life.

But I'll pull for the Rangers in this World Series.

Rangers Take National Stage

Tonight is a remarkable night in the history of baseball in north Texas.

Tonight, a league championship series begins in Arlington for the first time ever. I know there were many — myself included — who thought this day would never come.

And I have been to a Rangers game that was played in what was probably as close to a World Series atmosphere as anything anyone in these parts could imagine.

In late April 1989, a co–worker and I got tickets and went to Arlington to see the Rangers play the Boston Red Sox. Nolan Ryan had just signed with the Rangers, and we had calculated, based on the pitching rotations, when Ryan and Roger Clemens were likely to face each other, and we got tickets about 10 days ahead of time.

It was a gamble, of course. Either team could have been rained out once or twice, and that could have altered their pitching rotations. But nothing like that happened, and Ryan and Clemens faced off on a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon before what seemed to be a capacity crowd.

The game was a pitchers' duel. As I recall, the Red Sox took a 2–1 lead early in the game, and it remained that way until the bottom of the ninth, when Rafael Palmeiro belted a two–run homer, and the Rangers won, 3–2.

Ryan, who was 42 at the time, pitched into the eighth. I didn't find out until I was in the car on my way home that he had been having back spasms since the second inning. But he kept pitching — and kept shutting out the Red Sox — until the Rangers could scratch out the runs they needed to take the lead.

The 2010 Rangers may need that kind of endurance. They had to go the distance in a best–of–five series with Tampa just to get this far, and, fittingly, the team that has won more World Series than any other, the New York Yankees, stands between the Rangers and their debut in the Fall Classic.

Many of my friends in these parts are adjusting their schedules so they can watch the Rangers in the World Series. A couple of days ago, I heard on a local radio station that folks were already camping out at the Ballpark so they can be assured of getting World Series tickets when they go on sale on Sunday. I hope they can get a refund if the Yankees turn out to be the American League's representatives.

Because one thing is for sure — nothing will be certain about the World Series by this Sunday. Yet there are people who will sleep in pup tents and sleeping bags outside a ballpark for four or five nights just to get tickets for what may be a once–in–a–lifetime event.

That's a tribute to Ryan, who is part–owner and team president now. His journey in baseball has seemed, at times, wildly improbable.

Early in his career, he was a relief pitcher for the Amazin' Mets of 1969. Many observers may have written him off in the 1970s, when he labored for a mostly weak California Angels franchise, but he wound up taking them to the playoffs in his final season with them and putting them on the road to continued baseball success. After that, he returned to his native state and played for the Houston Astros for most of the 1980s, helping them to their first playoff series. He concluded his playing career with five seasons in Texas.

There is great anticipation here — where baseball may belatedly join the other major team sports (football, basketball, hockey) that have played for championships. In a sense, the Rangers already have joined that group (or, at least, they will when the first pitch is thrown in Arlington tonight) in this series that will decide the AL champion.

But I speak of overall championships, and, in baseball, those are only won in the World Series. The Rangers must get past the Yankees before they can play Philadelphia or San Francisco for all the marbles.

In a year when the Cowboys, Stars and Mavericks have all been disappointments locally, the Rangers have been bringing back some of that Texas swagger.

"Bring on the Evil Empire," writes Jeff Wilson in the Fort Worth Star–Telegram.

Well, I hope folks enjoy it while they can because I think that expecting to deprive the Yankees of a World Series appearance in the same year that George Steinbrenner died is asking a bit much of the baseball gods.

The Rangers have been playing ball here in north Texas for nearly 40 years. Who knows when they will see fit to send another league championship series this way?

The Bookend Champions

It seems appropriate, in a way, that the first decade of the 21st century should begin and end with the New York Yankees winning the World Series.

With the exception of the 1980s, the Yankees had world champions in every decade of the 20th century since winning their first title in 1923.

Beyond that, I see no special significance in the Yankees' victory. Even though the Phillies were the defending world champions and they won the series opener behind the brilliant pitching of Cliff Lee, you didn't need to be psychic to see the Yankees — the only major league club to win 100 games or more this year — emerging with the trophy.

They've won the championship 27 times, which is nearly three times as many as their nearest competitors, the National League's St. Louis Cardinals.

In hindsight, it seems only appropriate that the Yankees should win the title in their inaugural season in the new Yankee Stadium. They won their first title the year they began playing in the original Yankee Stadium, so why should things be any different with Yankee Stadium 2.0?

As Mike Lupica writes in the New York Daily News, the title seems at home there.

I don't know if, as many are suggesting, this was one of the great Yankee teams of all time. It's hard to make that assertion, when the past is dotted with names like Ruth and Gehrig and DiMaggio and Mantle. But even if the Yankees did not field a lineup of immortals (and who's to say, at this point, that they did not?), that takes nothing away from what they achieved.

I'm sure there is great pain among Philadelphia baseball fans today. The city waited nearly 60 years to avenge the Whiz Kids' loss to New York in 1950, but the Phillies only got halfway there. Well, at least this time they won a couple of World Series games. The Whiz Kids lost a four–game sweep. Maybe the third time will be the charm for Philly, but if it takes as long for that rematch to materialize as this one did, fans who remember the Whiz Kids and lived to see the rematch will be long gone. For that matter, many of the fans who watched this series but weren't alive in 1950 will be gone as well.

More than most sports, it seems, baseball is a tough sport in which to repeat. The team the Phillies beat in last year's World Series, for example, the Tampa Bay Rays, did not qualify for this year's playoffs. And you don't have to go back too far to find other examples of teams that thought they would be back in the playoffs the next year but wound up slipping from the postseason radar.

Phillies fans should be grateful that their team had the opportunity to defend its title. Even if the Phils fell short of their goal, they enjoyed an opportunity that baseball teams don't get very often.

Unless you're the Yankees.

There's No Crying in Baseball

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New York Yankees fans hoped to be celebrating the franchise's 27th world championship today, but the Philadelphia Phillies won Game 5 last night, and now the teams are returning to New York for Game 6 and, if the Phillies win again on Wednesday night, Game 7.

Tyler Kepner tried to put the best possible face on the situation in the New York Times:

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"Fans would like to believe that players can will themselves to greatness, particularly those infused with that most intangible quality: grit. There is no way to measure grit, but we know it when we see it, or at least we think we do.

"Jimmy Rollins is gritty. So are Jorge Posada and Shane Victorino and Brett Gardner. And so, of course, is Andy Pettitte, the Yankees' first choice to start Game 6 of the World Series on Wednesday at Yankee Stadium.

"Sometimes the grittiest players, the ones renowned for playing the right way and coming through at big moments, do not deliver. Derek Jeter came up as the potential tying run in the ninth inning of Game 5 on Monday, with a moonlighting closer, Ryan Madson, teetering on disaster for the Philadelphia Phillies. Madson threw a sinking fastball, and Jeter grounded into a double play."

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It looked pretty good for the Yankees when they had reeled off three straight wins after losing the opener.

And, admittedly, the Phils have their work cut out for them. They still have to win two games in enemy territory. And they'll have to continue this improbable march to the title by overcoming Andy Pettitte Wednesday night.

But Pettitte, although victorious in Game 3, struggled against the Phillies the first time. Now forced to pitch on three days' rest for New York, Pettitte's season "seemed to reach the point of exhaustion Saturday," as Kepner observed. It remains to be seen whether he can summon what is necessary to throttle the Phillies — and Pettitte, who has won 17 of 26 postseason decisions, said his first encounter with the Phillies was an "absolute grind."

If he doesn't stop the Phillies, that will mean a Game 7. New York still will present a formidable obstacle on the mound in C.C. Sabathia, but he, too, will be working on three days' rest. What happens will dictate the terms of the debate that seems likely to be waged during the offseason.

In my experience, anything can happen in a best–of–seven series that reaches the seventh game. At that point, Yankee fans may be second–guessing everything after coming within one win of claiming that championship only to lose the next two games, and the Yankee Stadium crowd may be more subdued for Game 7 than it will be tomorrow night.

By that time, too, Phillies manager Charlie Manuel may be praised for sticking with his pitching rotation in spite of the pressure that comes with some tough setbacks in a short playoff series.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. First thing's first. That means tomorrow night's game.

Whatever happens, both teams are to be commended for a scrappy series. But, win or lose, I would implore their fans to remember ...

There's no crying in baseball.